the woman down the street,
let's call her becky,
squared shoulders,
with small tombstone teeth,
doesn't like you.
she looks at you
with evil old eyes
and is quick to reprimand
you for putting the trash
out too early,
or not picking up
after your dog, or for
driving too fast
in the cul de sac.
your parking pass needs
to hang from your mirror
she would often tell you,
shaking her head
of bristled grey hair.
so it surprises you when
you read the note she
slipped under your door
inviting you for an afternoon
of yoga, tea and cookies.
this sunday.
Namaste, hope to see
you there.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment